STATEMENT OF DJAMEL AMEZIANE BEFORE THE INTER-AMERICAN COMMISSION ON HUMAN RIGHTS CASE NO. 12.865, AMEZIANE V. UNITED STATES 7 SEPTEMBER 2017 Honorable Commissioners, My name is Djamel Ameziane. I am a victim of the United States in its war on terror. For nearly 12 years, I was held by the US military at Guantanamo Bay, without charge, trial or fair process to challenge the legality of my detention. I was held without any legitimate basis, including for more than five years after I was first cleared for transfer. I was humiliated, tortured and abused, and discriminated against as a Muslim man each and every day that I was in US custody, from early January 2002, when Pakistani authorities turned me over to the US military and I was transferred to Kandahar Air Base in Afghanistan, until the time I was forcibly returned to Algeria in December 2013, despite my fears of persecution there. The United States treated me like an animal, or worse than an animal, because the Iguanas that roam freely at Guantanamo were protected by laws. I lived in a cage and was protected by no laws. I suffered abuse and mistreatment at the hands of the US Government, and I watched other detainees suffer the same fate. My family also suffered greatly. I have lasting physical and psychological injuries as a result of what I have endured. Regrettably, because of those injuries, and in particular because of the depression and post- traumatic stress that I continue to suffer as a result of my detention at Guantanamo, I was not able to travel from Algeria to Mexico and testify before the Commission in person as I had hoped and planned. The stress and anxiety from the uncertainty about whether I would be allowed to travel, or whether as a former detainee I might be detained or interrogated were too great. I became depressed, and my mind started to sink into a dark place, so I decided that I could not make the journey. I am very sorry. But I would like to thank the Commission and the Government of Mexico for their efforts to arrange for me to attend the hearing in person. The Mexican Government issued me a visa at its embassy in Algiers, and the Mexican Ambassador to Algeria met with me personally and was very kind and encouraging of me. What I wanted to tell the Commission in person, and what I want to explain now, are some of the horrors that I endured at Guantanamo, and what has happened since my release. These are only a few examples; it would take me days to explain it all. As my lawyers have detailed for the Commission, and as the US also knows well, I was a refugee from Algeria. I fled the country in the early 1990s to avoid the civil war that devastated our country. I lived legally in Vienna for several years, handing out flyers by the Opera House and later working as a chef, but was not allowed to remain in Austria. My work visa was not renewed in 1995. I went from there to Canada, where I immediately applied for political asylum. I lived in Montreal legally for five years until my asylum application was rejected at the end of 2000. Fearing return to Algeria, I panicked and fled to Afghanistan, where as a single Muslim man I could live without papers, and without harassment, while I tried to figure out what to do next. I lived there for a few months until the tragedy of 9/11 happened and the US invaded, after which I fled right away to Pakistan to escape the fighting in which I had no interest and took no part. After arriving in Pakistan, I was welcomed initially but quickly betrayed by villagers who were rounding up foreigners and selling them for bounties. I was turned over to the Pakistani forces, who in turn gave me to the US military, which flew me to Kandahar on a military cargo plane. I was chained, handcuffed, hooded and tied with other prisoners to the floor of the plane. When we arrived, it was total chaos and mayhem. We were beaten and brutalized by the soldiers. One thing I remember clearly were armed guards yelling, “Kill them! Kill them!” as we arrived. And I remember the soldiers had vicious, barking dogs that they would bring close to our heads, while we were chained face-down to the freezing cold ground, so close in fact that I could feel their breath on my face. The guards used the dogs to terrify us, and because they thought that we as Muslims especially did not like dogs. I was in shock, but looking back on it, that was probably the guards’ intention. Because right when I thought I could not take any more abuse and might lose my mind, I was brutally interrogated. I also encountered other prisoners who were hooded and beaten, and others who were deprived of sleep to the point of hallucination, all in an effort to get them to confess to various things that the interrogators said they had done. This went on continuously while I was held in Kandahar. In February 2002, I was transferred to Guantanamo, and I thought my life was over completely. For the 15-hour flight, I was once again chained and bound with others, with opaque goggles, earmuffs and a mask over my nose and mouth. I was chained to a seat, forbidden from speaking, and it was living hell. I was not treated like a human being. When I arrived at Guantanamo, I was placed in an outdoor cage in Camp X-Ray. My cell was like a dog kennel, and indeed it was unfit for a human being. The cell was two meters square and made of wire mesh, with a cement floor and a roof of sheet metal. At first we were not permitted to speak much at all, and we had no amenities. I was eventually given a thin mat and blanket, a bucket for water, and a bucket for human waste, as well as a few other small items. We were given food, but no time to eat it, and the guards constantly harassed us and yelled obscenities at us. They purposefully interrupted our prayers and systematically deprived us of sleep. They sprayed us with water when we slept. We were searched and harassed and demeaned constantly. At times I was also placed in solitary confinement in Camp 1, which was part of the Camp Delta complex that housed Camps 1, 2, 3 and eventually 4, all built after my arrival at Guantanamo. I was left alone for periods lasting up to one month in a cold, rusty metal cell. Everything at Guantanamo rusts quickly in the hot, salty sea air. I slept there on a very cold metal bed, but once again was often kept awake at night by guards making a racket outside my cell. Thinking back on those early days at Guantanamo, I do not know how I did not go completely crazy. My experiences there were like a nightmare from which I could not awake. Thousands of miles from my home and my family, with no contact with the outside world, I did not even think my family would know where to look for me. They probably thought I was dead. Indeed, after I was released I learned from my brother in Canada that they did not know where I was or what had happened to me until a Canadian official told him a few years after my arrival that I was in Guantanamo. My brother could not believe it. Again, there are so many instances in which I was abused and tormented and discriminated against that I might take me a week to explain them all. After a few months in Camp X-Ray, I was moved around through different camps within Camp Delta, and the abuse continued as the prison filled up with more and more detainees from countries all around the world. All were Muslim. We even heard that there were children as young as maybe 10 years old held in another camp separate from ours, and elderly men as old as their 90s. I do not know what ever happened to them, or to most of the other prisoners I encountered there. Eventually, the physical abuse that mostly characterized my early years in Guantanamo gave way to psychological abuse. Although the physical harassment and abuse continued, as did the religious discrimination, the psychological abuse was far worse. I would rather have continued to be beaten physically than locked away in isolation and forgotten, which is what happened to me. In April 2007, I was moved to solitary confinement in Camp 6 for no apparent reason. Perhaps it was to punish me for meeting with my lawyers and litigating a habeas corpus case to challenge my detention. Maybe it was just to be sadistic. I do not know. But what I can say with certainty is that my health and well-being took a turn for the worst in Camp 6. For to understand Camp 6, you must envision what we called a tomb above the ground. A super-max type prison made of concrete and steel, with no windows and only single cells. There, I was kept in a windowless room in isolation, and because I could see nothing but white walls for almost 24 hours a day, nearly every day, my eyesight deteriorated. I asked repeatedly for an eye exam, but adequate medical treatment was denied to me for almost one year.